Leave Behind the HalfLife
by Running Up Fawn
Summary: Post-The Empty Chair (Jeffrey Deaver) Rhyme and Sachs.


Title: Leave Behind the Half-Life

Author: Lauren / Running Up Fawn

Disclaimer: As much as I wish they were, Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs are not mine. They belong to the genius that is Jeffrey Deaver. The title is borrowed from Duncan Sheik's "Half-Life".

Rating: PG

Author's Note: Set immediately after The Empty Chair; a post-novel fic, I suppose. Many thanks to S for the encouragement.

*

The darkness of the bedroom reminded Rhyme of the black hole he had slipped into at the hospital, and it was only Amelia Sachs's presence at his side that kept him firmly in New York, in his townhouse, in his bed, instead of trapped in North Carolina reliving those final, desperate moments and watching helplessly as Lydia bent over him, a cruel smile affixed on her deceptively benign features..

Sachs stirred next to him, leaning her head back on the pillow to regard him with bright, sleepless eyes. Her leg remained thrown over his, her arm stayed wrapped across his torso, and though he couldn't feel anything except the strands of red hair that rested under his chin, he was grateful for her closeness nonetheless.

For a moment, they simply watched each other, and though neither spoke, what they were thinking was clear.

The long ride home from North Carolina had been quiet, giving both Rhyme and Sachs ample time to contemplate just how close to losing each other they'd come in the past days.

Far too close.

Lying here in the dark, Sachs was remembering the way she'd felt in the split second she realized Lydia Johansson was not the victim they'd originally thought she was.

_Oh God, she's going to kill him._

_Rhyme.._

Amelia couldn't forget the icy grip of fear that had seized her as the thought resonated through her mind, and she involuntarily tightened her arm around Rhyme, moving closer to his still but very real, very alive form.

"Can't sleep?" Rhyme broke the silence.

Sachs offered him a quick smile before shaking her head.

"Nope. You?"

"Apparently not," came his wry response.

"Were you scared?" The quick question slipped from Sachs's lips before she could stop it, and Lincoln leaned his head back into the soft pillow, raising an eyebrow. "At the hospital, Rhyme," she clarified. "Were you?"

"I didn't have time to be afraid," he finally answered, to Sachs's mild surprise. She hadn't expected a reply; talking was something of a rare occurrence for Lincoln Rhyme, unless it involved a case or some area of his expertise. Feelings, though, the abstract..he tended to keep those to himself.

"I figured out what was happening only a second before I went under," Rhyme continued, and his voice wasn't the brisk, matter-of-fact tone he used when discussing crime scenes or evidence, but sounded slightly dazed, as if this was the first time he'd allowed himself to remember that he'd been seconds away from plunging into darkness for good.

"I had time," Sachs told him quietly. "When I saw her..when I saw her, I didn't think I could ever move fast enough and I thought maybe when I finally got to you, you'd be gone."

"Sachs," Rhyme said firmly, looking into her steel blue eyes and promising with his gaze as well as his words, "I'm not going anywhere." He glanced down at his broken body and quirked a brief grin, prompting the appearance of a small but genuine smile on her perfect lips, and she didn't say anything, just readjusted her hold on him again, resting her head on his shoulder.

_I'm not going anywhere, and even if I could, Sachs, even if I could, there's nowhere else I would ever want to be._

"You want to know what I would say to an empty chair, Rhyme?" Amelia asked after several long moments had passed. She remained still, her gaze not on his face but on the brilliant red Storm Arrow wheelchair that sat in the corner of the bedroom.

_If you could say something to an empty chair, Sachs, what would it be?_

"I thought you were keeping that to yourself," Rhyme answered, unable to keep a note of curiosity out of his otherwise even, unaffected tone.

"Yeah, well." She shifted and took a deep breath, slightly sated eyes still trained on the chair. "I think I'd want to talk to whoever put you in this position." Sachs gestured briefly to his prone form. "The construction workers at the site, the officers who cleared the scene, whatever." She cleared her throat, jumbled thoughts mixing with the sudden strains of exhaustion that crept into her mind and limbs.

"I can imagine you walking the grid, Rhyme," Sachs told him, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, and she didn't allow herself to look at his face. "When I work a scene, it's like you're right there next to me. Like you can..see through the headset, or something. And even if you're not saying anything, you're still there, because I know what to listen for. I always hear you, Rhyme, whether you're talking or not."

"So what would you say to _them?" he asked her, scanning the planes of her face and the moonlight that danced over the strands of her hair. He wanted to know. He didn't want to admit it, but in some way, he needed to know._

"I'm not..I don't know," Sachs admitted. "I'd ask how it happened. How whoever was responsible _let_ it happen."

So you're angry, Rhyme thought. Ah, Sachs, I used to be angry too, but it doesn't help, it doesn't work. Nothing changes. The only thing that helps is to move forward.

He was sure he had her pinned, sure he knew the train of her next fierce thought and the emotions rolling through her, so the words that spilled out of Amelia Sachs left him more surprised than he had been in a long time.

"But I'm so goddamn selfish, Rhyme," she whispered. "Because I think a part of me would thank them."

Here Sachs forced herself to look up into Lincoln Rhyme's unreadable face before continuing.

"Yeah, they damaged you," Amelia told him. "But not here." She brushed a hand across his forehead. "Not where it matters. Not where I can always find you."

Please understand, Rhyme, she pleaded with her eyes. Please understand because I don't know how to tell you.

"You tell me 'You and me', and that's what I want. You and me, this, now, us, you and me and your mind and your chair and everything we are right here. So I would have to thank them, whoever they are, because they didn't touch what's most important. And we have a you and me."

Rhyme's eyes slipped shut as the flood of memories crashed over him.

_A beat of complete, utter silence, then the deafening sound of metal against metal, followed by a darkness he thought he'd never emerge from.._

_Numbness..months__ and months of numbness and his new half-life in this cage of a broken body._

_Days blurred into one another, minutes folded over each other and nothing meant anything anymore.._

_Nothing meant anything until this whirlwind of a red-haired cop stared him in the eye and challenged him and felt him and knew him._

_Loved him._

And he was here with her in the dark.

_You and me, Sachs._

"I'm..God, Rhyme, I'm so sorry.." Amelia was saying, tripping over her words, and he wished he could raise a hand to her lips to silence her, but he settled for a firm, whispered, "Sachs".

She stopped speaking, lips slightly parted, regarding him with those brilliant steel eyes.

"Sachs," Rhyme repeated. "If I could feel my legs, walk, work a scene, run, ride a bike, drive, fly..if I could do any of them, there would still be a you and me." _If you'll have me, he added silently._

This time it was Amelia's eyes that fluttered shut, and she drew a deep, shuddering breath before giving him a slight nod and dropping her head to his shoulder.

"Love you," Sachs whispered against his skin. _In your chair or out, walking, running, lying in this bed, moving or not..I love you._

Rhyme bent his head to hers and told her he loved her, too.

In the darkness, his Storm Arrow wheelchair sat empty. It didn't hold any answers, Lincoln Rhyme knew. 

But maybe here, together, they didn't need any.

You and me, Sachs. Always you and me.

[end]


End file.
